


Special Delivery

by jellymankelly



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellymankelly/pseuds/jellymankelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gleam in her eyes promised trouble, certainly, but it promised just as much reward, if Santana decided to play along. She thinks of Brittany's smokey eyes, her cherry lips curved in a confident smirk, her long, lithe form, sculpted as if by Bernini himself. Yes, she thinks, there is just as much potential for pleasure there as trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Dubious consent.

She didn't sign up for this crap.

Well. Technically, she did, but Santana figured by now she'd have moved up high enough in the ad agency that this kind of tedious busy work would be delegated to the interns. Not that she'd be able to relinquish control, anyways. The reason she's climbed the corporate ladder as quickly and steadily as she has is entirely due to her relentless need to be perfect. It's exhausting and migraine-inducing most days, but sometimes she feels as though it's the only way to guarantee the results she's after. At least now she has her own office to melt her brain in - doing this kind of detail-oriented work was near impossible in the outer office cubicles.

The phone rings, startling Santana out of her thoughts, and she curses as she shuffles the papers covering it out of the way. Snatching up the receiver, she just barely manages a civil tone.

"Lopez."

"There's a special delivery for you, Mrs. Lopez. Would you like me to hold it here for you to come get, or should I send it up?"

She sighs and tries not to let any irritation leak into her voice as she responds. "Has the courier been vetted?" It could be anyone, but at this hour it's likely some finicky client with a new ridiculous request for one of her marketing campaigns. Not for the first time, she regrets making herself so available to the firm. Whatever it is, she's confident it can wait until Monday. She is not wasting any more of her Friday night here than absolutely necessary.

There's a pause, and some muffled conversation on the other end. "Ah...Not exactly, ma'am. She is...ah...known to the firm, though. Should I send her up?"

She frowns at the hesitance in the night watchman's voice, but dismisses it as a side effect of her tiredness setting in. "Yes, thank you. Just direct her to my office."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll send 'er right on up."

She hangs up and buries herself back in last year's spring sales figures, trying to get through the information as quickly as possible while still being thorough enough to be able to draft accurate projections for her presentation.

Several minutes later, she jumps when a sharp knock sounds on her office door, swearing when her knee knocks against the underside of the desk painfully.

"Enter," she calls sharply, annoyed with herself for getting caught off guard.

She doesn't bother looking up when the courier opens the door. "Just leave it on the desk, thank you." She knows she's being rude, but she really doesn't have time for pleasantries when she's already half an hour over her original goal for finishing time.

"I'm afraid this package requires your immediate attention, Mrs. Lopez."

A chill shoots straight up her spine at the sultry voice, and she nearly gives herself whiplash snapping up to see a tall, statuesque blonde standing before her.

The woman is dressed in an elegant black scoopneck top that is not quite heavy enough to hide the black lace bra underneath, and her charcoal skirt clings to her hips and thighs like a second skin, stopping just above her knees. Her heels are high and stilettoed, their candy apple color matching the lipstick coloring her slyly curled lips perfectly. She stares at Santana with eyes hooded beneath smokey makeup, and her hair haloes her face in perfectly tousled ringlets. The sight of her is enough to make Santana's mouth water.

Internally scolding herself for staring, Santana pastes a blank, professional smile on and stands to accept the delivery. She usually prides herself on her sense of decorum in the workplace, and it rankles to know this stranger had managed to crack that veneer - even if only for a second - simply by walking in the door.

"Of course, please excuse my shortness. Thank you for taking the trouble to deliver it, Ms…?"

" _Mrs._  Pierce," the woman corrects arrogantly. She gives Santana a once-over that nearly has her squirming in place, and her eyes seem to darken even further. "You can call me Brittany, though."

Santana's eyes widen in realization, and she only just manages to keep from losing her jaw in shock.

This is no simple courier. The woman standing before her is the sole owner of the largest ad account the agency has to its name - responsible for well over 30% of their revenue.

Ms. Pierce's sly expression stays in place, and it only serves to annoy Santana further. It's the kind of smile and glint that says, 'I know something you don't,' and Santana  _hates_  being out of the loop. Knowing she has to tread carefully with this woman, she tries to swallow her irritation and refixes her professional smile in place.

"Brittany, then. And I'm Santana. Thank you for taking the time to bring this to me yourself, especially since I'm certain you have other things you'd rather be doing on a Friday night. If it would be more convenient for you in the future, our agency has its own courier service that is very discreet and trustworthy. As one of our most important clients, you would certainly be entitled use of the service if you had need."

Brittany's smirk deepens as she steps forward to set her delivery on the desk before Santana. The package itself is nondescript in every sense of the word. It appears to be approximately the size of a ream of printer paper, which leads Santana to believe it must be a newly revised contract, or something of an equally sensitive nature to the firm. The brown paper covering it has no markings other than Santana's own name written in neat cursive across the front in black marker.

Not yet touching the package, Santana meets Brittany's eyes again, secretly a little concerned by how nervous and unsteady the blonde woman's intense gaze makes her feel.

"I'm well aware of the services your agency provides, Santana, but I made this delivery in person so that I could find out exactly which...services  _you_  might provide me." She lingers on the word 'services' in a way that makes Santana glad her darker skin doesn't show flush very easily. "I'm afraid this particular issue is one that needs the attention of someone who knows how to take direction well and without question. I need to know that you can give me what I want, when I want it. Do you think you can you do that, Santana? Can you do as you're told?"

Gritting her teeth as her irritation comes flooding back, Santana briefly considers her options. The Pierce account is not part of her workload. By rights, she shouldn't be coming anywhere near it seeing as she's only a junior partner. On the other hand, this could be a prime opportunity to show the higher ups that she knows how to take initiative when it comes to satisfying a client's needs. Even an arrogant, snobbish, outrageously attractive client. It's well worth the risk of getting her wrist slapped if she can pull it off, she decides. This could be the account that makes her career.

"I would be happy to be of whatever assistance you might need, Brittany." She pauses for a moment before continuing, pride warring with her need to be honest with a potential client. "However, I feel it's only right to tell you that as of this moment, I have only a basic working knowledge of your account since I'm not formally a part of the workgroup assigned to it. The ladies and gentlemen you would have met during the last pitch meeting are the ones who have the most intimate familiarity with your needs." She bites down on her tongue to keep from adding anything else - namely that half the people on that team are morons.

Professionalism, she reminds herself. She must remain professional.

Brittany only hums in response, but maintains their steady eye contact. "I appreciate your honesty, Santana, but there's a reason I've come to you specifically. I have no doubt that you and I will be able to...how did you put it? Achieve an 'intimate familiarity.'"

Santana freezes, the obvious innuendo stopping her cold for a moment. Her cheeks heat and she can feel her stomach twist in a way that seems to be both anxious and anticipatory. For the first time, she wonders if she hasn't just bitten off just a little more than she can chew.

A slow, smug expression curls across Brittany's face, making her look like nothing so much as an incredibly satisfied cat. She pushes the package a little closer to Santana before taking a step back.

"Why don't you take a look through this and get yourself situated as needed while I go visit the ladies' room? Then when I return, we can see about getting a little more...familiar." She turns on her heel and saunters out, leaving Santana a speechless, slightly sweaty mess in her wake.

Dropping down heavily into her chair, Santana stares at the still-wrapped box and contemplates her next move.

She could be completely misreading things, but she's pretty sure that Brittany Pierce was just hitting on her.  _Hard_. And if she's honest with herself, even despite the clear level of conceit the woman has, she quite enjoyed the experience. The woman is undeniably attractive, and her high and mighty attitude is a tempting challenge. But that doesn't mean Santana is willing to sleep with a client just to get the account. Even a gorgeous, seductive, inhumanly sexy client like Brittany Pierce.

Does it?

Shaking her head at her own ridiculousness, Santana pushes the thought away and reaches for the box. There's no way someone as business savvy as the head of Pierce Industries would risk her entire holdings on a fling with a junior ad agent. She's obviously just a naturally flirtatious person.

She pulls the wrapper off, crumples it, and tosses it into the bin beside her desk, and then uses a pair of scissors to split the tape keeping the plain cardboard box shut. When she pulls off the lid, she scowls confusedly at the sight that meets her eyes. Resting in the box, rather than a stack of papers full of mind-numbing legalese is a thin layer of deep red tissue paper, topped by a blank white card. She picks up the card and flips it over to discover the same neat, looping script that graced the wrapping paper.

**Put these on. Leave everything else in the box. Do not disappoint me, Santana.**

She scoffs at the presumption of her name, but her stomach twists again at the implication the card holds. Setting it aside, she lifts open the two flaps of tissue paper and drops them again immediately in shock and fury.

Nestled inside the tissue paper is a pair of delicate, black lace panties.

Santana stares at the half opened box, her mind a whirlwind of outrage, confusion, and, if she's being completely truthful, no small amount of arousal. Who does this woman think she is? Her first instinct is to pack the box up and tell Brittany Pierce to take her inappropriate proposition and shove it right up her ass. Santana Lopez is not some corporate whore, no matter what her earlier consideration might have meant.

She thinks about the consequences of denying Brittany's request - demand, really. She probably wouldn't lose her job, but she'd never make senior partner in this agency if she pisses off one of its main clients. She could probably take the woman to court over it, but it would be an ugly fight, given the resources likely available at Brittany's command.

Traitorously, her mind than wonders then wanders back to the woman herself. The gleam in her eyes promised trouble, certainly, but it promised just as much reward, if Santana decided to play along. She thinks of Brittany's smokey eyes, her cherry lips curved in a confident smirk, her long, lithe form, sculpted as if by Bernini himself. Yes, she thinks, there is just as much potential for pleasure there as trouble.

She lifts the tissue again and stares at the panties underneath. They're very obviously high quality. Higher even than the pair Santana is wearing now. Hesitantly, she runs a finger over the silken fabric, deliberating.

She's not exactly unwilling, but this could go so wrong in so many ways. She remembers the challenge in those slanted blue eyes and swears violently under her breath, damning her inability to back down from a challenge.

She stands and quickly shimmies out of her own panties, stuffing them in her locked drawer for safe keeping. The cool air hits her heated center under her skirt and she shivers as she realizes how turned on she already is. She should probably be concerned about that, but she shoves the thought into the recesses of her mind, along with her better judgement.

Snatching the new panties out of the box, she yanks them up her legs. As soon as they're in place, a gasp escapes her lips. Not quite believing what she's feeling, she slides a trembling hand under her skirt to press against herself. She whimpers when her fingers find a small, solid object nestled in the material directly over her clit.

A vibrator.

Suddenly weak at the knees, Santana collapses back into her chair, moaning in surprised pleasure when the tiny vibrator presses against her insistently. Her bright yellow skirt, a favorite of hers, is still hiked around her hips, and her thighs cling uncomfortably to the warm leather of her chair.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind stutters that she has definitely bitten off way more than she can chew.

Almost as if on cue, her office door swings open, and she stares speechlessly as Brittany stalks back in. Blue eyes take in the opened package and the very probably stunned expression on Santana's face, and she smirks in haughty satisfaction. She strides up to the desk and flicks away one of the tissue flaps to retrieve something from the box, palming it before Santana can see what it is.

Santana watches in silence as Brittany calmly repacks the box and discards it on the floor carelessly before slowly pacing around the desk.

Instinctively, Santana scoots back in her chair, leaving enough room for Brittany to lean against it. The blonde lets her gaze drop slowly over her, stopping at her lace covered sex, visible under the lewd bunching of her skirt.

Santana struggles to keep her eyes up despite the hot flush of embarrassment and arousal burning through her. She feels helpless, trapped in the gaze of of a predator about to strike.

Brittany's voice is low and rough when she commands Santana to remove her blazer, long, delicate fingers reaching to tug gently at one of the lapels. Briefly, Santana considers refusing. She feels too exposed, too out of control, and it's not a sensation she particularly relishes.

Brittany must read her thoughts on her face, because her eyes flash dangerously with warning.

"I don't enjoy repeating myself, Santana. You told me you were a woman who could follow direction without question. Are you still that woman?"

Santana meets her eyes, defiant, before finally relenting. She tries to ignore how her hands shake as they struggle to unbutton the jacket, and her skin feels hypersensitive as the rough fabric slides off her shoulders and down her arms. The cold office air immediately raises goosebumps over her bare shoulders, and she absently curses her decision to wear a bandeau instead of her usual blouse.

"Good girl," Brittany husks, and it instantly raises Santana's hackles. A raised sculpted eyebrow settles her somewhat, but she seethes internally. Frustration and embarrassment wage war against intense arousal inside of her, but one heated look from Brittany and arousal wins out easily.

The woman stands again and circles around behind Santana's chair, pushing it forward until Santana's legs are hidden under the desk and her ribs and pressed against it.

"Spread your legs."

Santana stares blankly, not sure she heard correctly. Brittany repeats the demand in the same even voice as before, but it's a tone that brooks no argument. Cool hands glide over Santana's shoulders and she has to fight a hard shudder as she obeys. Her hips compensate for the movement by rolling forward until her crotch is pressed firmly against the chair. She bites her lip against another whimper when she realizes the purpose of the command. The vibrator is now pressed hard against her clit.

" _Good girl."_

The words are husked right into her ear, and her lips part in a silent gasp at the pure sex in them.

"Now, put your hands on the desk."

Santana complies, but has to keep her hands clenched in tight fists to keep them from shaking. She's practically half naked, and her nipples are peaked embarrassingly hard in the cold, clearly visible under the single layer of fabric covering them, but she feels like she's burning up from the inside out.

"Palms down, fingers spread, please," the disembodied voice directs, and Santana finds she can't do anything but obey once again. "Very good." Pale fingers stroke teasingly over her collarbone and neck, leaving trails of electricity in their wake.

"Now," the fingers pause at her throat and the fabric of her bandeau. "Do not move."

Her entire body is practically vibrating with barely contained desire, and her heart pounds in anticipation. She's never been so turned on in her life, and Brittany hasn't even properly touched her. She finds herself wishing the blonde would.

Suddenly the vibrator begins to buzz against her, and her whole body jerks in reaction. Her moan of pleasure turns into a frustrated groan as it stops again just as quickly.

Brittany tsks behind her, and Santana's face heats in embarrassment. Her fingers crook slightly in an effort to brace her hands even harder against the smooth surface of the desk.

"Don't disappoint me again, Santana," Brittany warns, and Santana nods frantically, desperate for the stimulation to begin again. She can feel her juices soaking the panties and the leather beneath them.

The vibrator starts again and her whole body tenses as she battles the instinct to rut against her chair.

Brittany's hands begin tracing over her skin again, tickling dangerously close to the boundary over her top but never venturing underneath. After the teasing fingertips make their third pass over the tops of her breasts, Santana lets out a pained whine.

She can practically  _hear_  Brittany's smirk as she toys with the fabric, rolling and tugging so that it slides against Santana's over-sensitive nipples.

"Is there something you want, Santana?"

"Please," she whispers, her throat tight with need.

"Hmm?"

Closing her eyes, she manages a hoarse, "Touch me." She hates that Brittany has reduced her to begging, but if she doesn't get some other form of stimulation  _soon_ , she feels like she might just explode.

"Well," Brittany husks tauntingly, "since you asked so nicely." She flips the bandeau down, exposing Santana's chest, and slides both hands down over her breasts until they're nestled against creamy palms.

Completely against her will Santana lets out a quiet, grateful moan as her breasts are squeezed and massaged.

"Mmm, I like that," Brittany sighs. She catches dark nipples between her fingers and squeezes again, pinching them slightly. Santana moans again, and her hand press even harder against the desk as she wills her hips not to buck in reaction.

Chuckling darkly, Brittany slips her right hand up to grip under Santana's jaw, tilting her head. She presses her lips to Santana's ear and licks at it before whispering lowly, "You've been such a good girl, I think you deserve a reward." Santana pants openly, any pretense of composure long since abandoned. "Fuck yourself on my little toy until you come."

Unable to control herself any longer, Santana begins humping against her chair, her breath coming out in short moans that match the cadence of her rolling hips. Her voice rises in pitch when the vibrator begins to pulse even stronger, echoing in the open space of her office with each throbbing breath.

The hand at her chin slinks back down to play at her breast, and her nipples positively  _ache_  with all the pinching and rolling Brittany is administering.

"I want you to remember this moment," Brittany growls, low and heated, "whenever you sit in this chair from now on. I want you to remember how you feel under my hands and the sounds you're making. I want you to remember how you sat here, humping your chair like an animal in heat. Can you do that for me, Santana?"

Santana lets out a long, keening wail as her body surrenders to the pleasure, her pelvis thrusting spastically as something inside her snaps, filling her with white-hot heat. Her hips continue to buck sporadically as she gradually returns to herself, her chest expanding and collapsing with the effort of recovering from the intensity of her orgasm.

When she finally regains some semblance of calm, the realization of what just happened crashes over her and she can't help but let out a giggle that soon turns into a full belly laugh.

* * *

Brittany darts around the chair to kneel at her side, eyes shining with amusement and a small amount of concern. "San?" she mumbles, breaking the scene.

Santana forces herself quiet, wiping shakily at the tears that had formed in her eyes. She leans over and cups Brittany's cheek to pull her in for a soft kiss that the blonde melts into eagerly.

"Jesus Christ, Britt-Britt. That was...oh my God."

Brittany grins impishly and stands, pushing Santana's chair back so she can nestle herself in Santana's lap. Santana bites her lip and shudders a little when Brittany's weight presses the now-still vibrator further against her, and grins lazily up at her wife.

She snorts and buries her face into Brittany's shoulder as a thought occurs to her, and almost loses it again.

"What?" Brittany demands, pushing Santana back to meet her eyes.

Santana smirks and trails a hand teasingly up Brittany's thigh. "Oh, nothing, babe. It's just…" She pauses, laughing when Brittany thumps her shoulder lightly to get her talking again. "I'm just realizing how...interesting any meetings I hold in here are going to be from now on."

Brittany's eyebrows furrow together in confusion until realization causes her to gape.

It's long time before both women are able to stop laughing again.


End file.
